A Life Less Ordinary.

I’ve fallen from the blogging wagon lately. I have failed to juggle children, summer holidays, a husband, and well basically, my life with blogging. Forgive me. Like a lot of people I try to do too much. I’ve always enjoyed an active lifestyle, I love yoga, running, cycling, I’d like to complete a triathlon some day soon, I enjoy cooking and as chief chef I take a keen interest in providing healthy meals for my family, I have a bunch of wonderful and varied friends, I love going to concerts, theatre, the cinema, I study Spanish sporadically, the dog always needs walked and I do like to have the odd conversation with my husband!

The thing is, all of these are at odds with writing. Writing involves spending long periods of time alone, in front of a computer, or reading. It requires stillness. And I actually love this too. My life is a constant juggle of juxtapositions, it is a life less ordinary because YOLO ( new word for the day = you only live once. It’s actually in the dictionary!) So, the dawn of September and the start of school means I have regained some time and I decided I needed professional help so I’ve enlisted in a ‘Blogging and Beyond’ course with E.R.Murray to help me organise my social media life! Hopefully my blogging is about to get a whole lot better.

imageMeantime, I’ve re-entered the worm-hole that is my second novel. Turns out it needs a bit of an overhaul; queue tears, tantrums and the general feeling that I’m climbing up a very long, steep and rocky mountain in bare feet without food or water! This is the endurance test of my life, luckily (or not), I have a severe stubborn streak and I’m determined to finish it, properly. It’s got me thinking that perhaps tenacity, and not talent is the main ingredient when it comes to being a writer? What characteristics define you and help you to achieve your goals?

Letting Go.

So, yesterday I handed over my MS to Averill Buchanan, a highly recommended editor, who will use her fresh eyes to clean it up and get it ‘agent ready’ for me in the autumn. I told her there should be blood stains on it, cause that’s what it feels like to have written it. (I did actually say that. She looked suitably alarmed.) I do feel a fulfilling, pat-myself-on-the-back sense of achievement, but at the same time I feel panic. What if she thinks it’s crap? What if it doesn’t make sense? What if I have to go back to the drawing board? What if, what if…

And then, to be honest, amidst the panic I’ll look at this face and probably have a cuddle.


Now, if that’s not a face of faith I don’t know what is! He’s been with me every word of the way for eight years and if he thinks I can do it… I might just pull it off.

N.B. I did warn you he’d feature a lot. It’s not right to have favourites but…